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by S.N. Rainsworth
Summary: Selim Bradley learns a small lesson in judgement from a man in the shadows. /AUishPost-Manga/Genfic./


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Skies are blue, suns are yellow, and grass is green. Everything had a certain spot, a certain place where they belonged. A niche, a catch, a place to call their own, their own life and their own occupations and their own _everything._

Those who don't are just those who don't.

He observes everything with a sort of sullen desire that clouds his eyes and often leaves him alone from the other children. From other adults, teens, just people in _general _even. Sometimes he wishes that he could reach out a hand and hold on to something before that leaves him too, but he knows it's hopeless. They all leave, they all disappear into that beautiful shadow that consumes everything but him.

"Selim, time to leave." Said boy turned around slightly to see his aging mother, brown hair streaked heavily with grey. His mother's words were often distant and careless; Selim hardly got that burst of warmth that sparkled in her eyes in his infancy days and toddler months. No, now was the mother whose touch was cold and who couldn't even get herself up to make a proper cup of tea.

"Yes mother," he still answers, because that was how he was raised.

Today was the National Parade, the annual celebration lead by the Fuhrer down Main Street of Central. Along with him, the yearly recruits and Penny Officers would come by, proudly saluting and marching down the road for their country. The Fuhrer and the Brass were usually on the only float, looking over and smiling. Selim had seen it many times; the last time he went was two years ago, when he was five. The Fuhrer then was a kind man with glinting eyes and hair that was always messy, a (somehow) kind smirk on his pale face.

But that was two years ago.

He'd stopped going when he realized that his father was once Fuhrer too. He couldn't bear looking at that spot without feeling this empty blank whiteness that made him physically sick. But this year, he had to go, in respect for the new Fuhrer. Apparently, that kind man and his family were murdered - _assassinated _- before his rule was over.

Being the leader of the country was a messy job. Selim could see it. He could see the top of the pyramid, could feel how it was to stand there and give everyone else orders, but then he'd always be pushed off by somebody else. Another power-hungry person.

Main Street of Central was packed, as usual. His mother and him were escorted to a personally reserved spot at the beginning of the parade, where the soldiers started to march and the fanfare started to play as people cheered.

There was a murmur among the crowd, and Selim's ears pricked up against his own will to hear what was going on.

_"Why isn't the Fuhrer there?"_

The estranged new Fuhrer's face hadn't been seen since of the previous one's murder. His wife's name wasn't known, and neither was his nor his children's. But they had been told that he would show up at the Parade, but the spot where he was _supposed _to stand - empty.

Selim looked too, but not even he could see. It was just a wisp of air around the square spot, sidelined by stiff-faced, high-ranked officers who tried to pretend nothing was wrong.

Selim snorted. "How incompetent."

"Really now?"

The deep, smooth voice of a man startled Selim out of his slouched position. His head turned slightly to see a blonde, reaching about six feet, with a dark black coat that was buttoned and fell way past his knees. His hair was long, sleek and tied back crisply, yet there were shaggy blonde bangs framing his face, which was rather handsome for the average Amestrian.

Selim's eyes hardened; older or not, that didn't excuse the intelligence of a human being. "Yes. The position of Fuhrer is a serious job. One shouldn't just blow it off like nothing. I don't care what others say, this new Fuhrer won't do a good job of ruling this country."

He stood stock still and stubborn and the blonde man - who was now becoming irritatingly _familiar _- regarded him with amusement and a touch of regret. "I suppose...you have a rather large vocabulary for a...six year old?"

"Seven," he replied stiffly. "And age doesn't define knowledge."

The blonde man chuckled, a very merry laugh, almost as if he thought what Selim said was the funniest thing in the world. Selim felt his ire rise, and just as he was about to say something - "Oh, I know that well, boy. I've been recognized as a child prodigy ever since I was twelve."

Selim deflated, feeling a little more embarrassed now. "How-how old are you now?" He didn't really look that old.

Blondie raised a brow, but answered. "Twenty-one. I heard the Fuhrer was a young one himself." Selim flinched at the mention of the Fuhrer once again.

"Yeah, well, that just proves my point more. Young people don't have much experience, so they can't make right decisions - I should know," he muttered.

Blondie sighed, looking disappointed. "And I thought you were _smart, _Selim." Selim opened his mouth to hotly protest that he _was_ and how the heck did this man _know his name _but Blondie continued, "You were the one who said age doesn't define intelligence. The Fuhrer could be more knowledgeable than you might think. Do you conclude based on his judgement, which you base on his age? Don't you hate it when people do that to you? For all we know, the Fuhrer could be a great leader. Which we can only know with time. And only if you give him a chance."

Stunned by his words, Selim quieted down and mulled over the thought seriously. While deflecting the blow to his pride, the blonde had managed to open-mind his thinking process completely.

"But..." And it was useless; he couldn't fight back with that kind of point. Thankfully, Blondie noticed his lost look and knelt down to his level. Selim noticed for the first time that his eyes were a bright, luminous, mesmerizing gold.

"Don't waste your time on books and shadows, Selim," he said, a smiled touching the corners of his lips. "This is your second chance. Make great use of it and spend it wisely. Don't lose yourself this young. Live. Don't do what I did."

Selim didn't understand half of what the man said, but he watched in amazement as he stood up to his full height and smiled. Selim watched, absorbed, as Blondie reached into his buttoned coat - conviently unbuttoned now - and pulled out a...hat?

Oh. A _military hat. _And not just that. Selim's eyes widened as he realized the insignia on the hat and stumbled back.

The blonde winked at him and ducked under he safety ropes, footsteps gliding easily over the concrete road and jumping smoothly onto the platform, his black coat fully off now to reveal a navy blue uniform and a proud smile as he stood in the empty position.

For a minute, as the float kept moving at it's pace, the Fuhrer turned his head toward Selim and saluted.

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_New drabble. :) Happy 55th story to me~ Just wanted to do something different. If you don't know who the Fuhrer is, you're an idiot. I'm just sayin'. :)_

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